


Disaster in mind palace

by sherlock_is_actually_a_girls_name



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Artwork by Cutelock, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Don't Like Don't Read, Johnlock fic, M/M, Mary is not very nice, Sherlock and John are both idiots, Torture, artwork, post trf
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:48:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26156773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlock_is_actually_a_girls_name/pseuds/sherlock_is_actually_a_girls_name
Summary: This is the tale of how it all goes downhill after Sherlock comes back from hell.Sherlock must convince John and face his most horrific demons yet. He must relive his trauma if he wants to catch the woman who tortured him in Serbia
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 23
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AnAnYaH](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnAnYaH/gifts).



> Hello, everyone!  
> It's https://johnlock-and-merthur-4ever.tumblr.com/ from tumblr......

My heart beats against my ribs almost painfully. My hands shake.

Bloody sentiment.

Seeing a photograph hasn’t prepared me for the sight before me.

John sits at a table, the evidence of the years etched into his face, his muscles. The way he carries himself. He looks old, weathered down. Then there is his cane. He has obviously recently used it.

All of that hurts, like a punch to the gut. But what hurts even worse is the ring. He’s going to propose.

For a moment, I allow myself the fantasy that John might be here to propose to me, instead of some strange woman. Then I shake my head and walk towards him.

I think briefly of a disguise, but reject the idea as foolish. Better to get this over with.

“John.” I say, and for a few seconds, that’s all I can manage.

John does not look up. He doesn’t even glance my way.

“John.” I try again.

When he finally does look up, his eyes are wet, but he isn’t looking at me. He mumbles something under his breath and stands hurriedly. His fiancé is nowhere to be seen so I follow him to the men’s restroom.

I stop in my tracks. Why hasn’t John punched me yet? Or at least reacted to my presence in some way or another?

Then a thought strikes me that chills me to the bone. What if he has deleted me from his memory? What if he doesn’t even remember me?

The room suddenly grows hot and I shrug off my jacket.

I enter the restroom. John is sitting curled up, with his knees drawn up to his chest and his hands hiding his face.

The last few days’ torture is nothing compared to the pain that hits me as his body heaves broken sobs. I watch, helpless. I don’t know what to do.

When I had decided to come meet John in the restaurant, I had felt elated. Then when I’d seen him at the table, I had felt heartbroken. Now I feel nothing.

Slowly, I squat beside him and run my hands through his hair. It is soft, beautiful in the orange alight.

I’m not sure if my touch is welcome, but I keep it up anyway. I sit down and pull him against my chest, hands still stroking his hair. It is something mummy used to do when I was little and had had a terrible nightmare.

“Shh, it’s alright. It’s okay now. Breathe, John.”

John mutters something inaudible again and I lean in to listen. “-isn’t real. He isn’t real. He isn’t real.”

Oh god. “You think I’m not real.”

“You’re not.”

“I promise I am. This isn’t a trick.”

“No. No. No. Don’t listen to him. He isn’t real.”

“John. Look at me.” I cup his face in my hands gently. His eyes meet mine. “I’m here, John.” I guide his hand and place it over my heart. “I’m right here.”

He shakes his head and moves away from me, still curled up against the wall.

I turn my back to him and snatch a tissue from the tissue box near the mirror. In the brief second it takes me to do this, John gasps. I drop the tissue.

“Wha-?”

“Turn around.” His voice is steel, unrelenting.

“Why?” I ask, confused.

“Why not?”

I say nothing and do as he says. It takes me ten seconds to realize my mistake. But it is too late.

When I glance at John he looks horrified.

“Take it off.”

“John-“

“NOW.”

I have no choice but to obey. I take off my shirt, wincing in pain. There, on the white shirt are red splotches of blood from the recent lashes and knifes I have taken.

“How?” He whispers touching my shoulder, my back.

“It’s not important-”

“You no longer get to tell me what is and isn’t important. How did this happen?”

“John, please let’s not do this here. Can we go home?” I can’t help the pleading note that slips into my tone. I haven’t been to 221B Baker Street for a year now.

“Alright. Fine. But once we reach Baker Street, I will patch you up and you will answer all my questions truthfully. Then, I will decide whether you’re real or my imagination or an imposter.”

“Yes, John.”

The cab ride back is tense and fragile. Neither of us know what to say.

I take his hand. He startles as if he’d already forgotten I was there. He stares down at our hands and looks up at me.

I dare to meet his eyes and touch his hair, his jaw. “I’m sorry,” I blurt.

He looks even more surprised at that, “You’re definitely not him.” He says, “My Sherlock never knew how to apologize. He was an idiot.”

A thrill rushes up my spine at that. My Sherlock.

He hasn’t forgotten. For some reason, it makes me grin.

I draw him closer and smile into his hair.

For the first time in a year I allow myself to hope. It will be alright.


	2. CHAPTER 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second chapter in a series. Follow my tumblr at:  
> https://johnlock-and-merthur-4ever.tumblr.com/ , where I post a lot each day.

John has had to clean my wounds numerous times in the past. Never before has his touch felt so relaxing. Perhaps I am a little touch starved. Being tortured for almost six months does that to you.

He wraps clean bandages around my torso with steady fingers. They falter when he looks at the brand mark on my chest, near my collarbone.

Although he hides it well, I can almost taste the anger rippling off of him. Not sure who it is directed at.

For a moment John’s hand drops to my side, brushing my hip bone. I suck in a breath and wait.

He moves away.

“Sit.” He says and I do. “Begin at the beginning. Don’t leave out any detail even if you think it’s obvious, or god help me I will punch you in the face.”

So I tell him everything. I tell him about Max Carlton, the serial killer Moriarty had hired to kill John if I escaped the rooftop alive. I tell him about Eric Smith, hired to kill Mrs Hudson and Lestrade. I tell him how I murdered them both and then most others in the organization. He doesn’t look surprised.

“And what about those who did that to you? Who were they?”

“The last part of Moriarty’s organization was lead by a woman named Adaa. She was too quick. Mycroft had to come extract me himself. Most were caught, except her. She escaped.”

“So you’re telling me that Mycroft knew? And he just let her slip away?!”

“John, I assure you he-”

“Don’t. Don’t defend your brother, Sherlock. He came to the funeral. He saw me break and he did nothing. He could’ve just told me. You both could have.” He whispers.

“I know you’re angry. I came close to calling you numerous times. But there was too much at stake, John. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t know what to say. I guess I just need some time to process all this.” He says, gesturing between us.

“We could process it togther. You could stay over.” I say, and regret it the second it comes out of my mouth. John has just had the shock of his life. He would want to go back to his fiancé, to safety and security. “If you wanted to,” I add hurriedly.

“I am going to stay over.” He replies, almost nonchalantly. “There’s a dangerous killer on the loose who is after you. I couldn’t leave even if I did want to.”

“John, please, I think we both know that I can hold my own in a fight. You don’t need to stay if you feel obligat-”

“Yes, I know you can. Look where that has landed us both. I’ll feel much better if I’m around to save your arse.”

The carelessness of that statement startles a laugh out of me. He smiles too. “You know this is quite ridiculous.”

“Which part? You coming back from the dead or me thinking you’re a memory?”

My smile fades away. “John. I know you can’t do it just yet, but please, please forgive me for all the hurt that I’ve caused you.”

“Someday, Sherlock.” He says, standing up. “Someday, I will be brave enough to forgive you for what you did to me. Not today, though.”

“Where’re you going?” I ask. Is he leaving? Didn’t he say he was going to stay over?

“I haven’t brought my night clothes. I’m going to go steal some of your old ones and sleep here on the couch.”

The idea of seeing John in my dressing gown threatens to split my face into a grin. I hide it behind my fist. It really isn’t appropriate to enjoy this so much. John isn’t staying permanently, after all. Just today. And though he is going to go back to his ridiculous fiancé, tomorrow; for today, I can enjoy his company and let my mind drift to things that can never be.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter where shit starts to go downhill. It doesn't hurtle downhill, but it's at the edge of the hill.  
> You get what I mean.  
> I really am bad at this, aren't I.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so the beautiful artwork in this chapter was done by @AnAnYah. You guys go follow her AO3 as well as her artwork on tumblr. It's seriously so cute, that most of you will melt from cuteness overload. <3  
> Here's the link to her tumblr:  
> http://cutelock.tumblr.com
> 
> If any of you wanna check out my tumbr for regular updates:  
> https://johnlock-and-merthur-4ever.tumblr.com/

John comes back dressed in my old dressing gown. The sleeves are too big and the length is entirely too much.  
I cough to hide my laugh. John looks adorable.  
He is glaring daggers at me. Now he looks like a ferocious animal, but the sleeves take the effect away.  
I laugh out loud at his expression. “Sherlock-”  
“You look ridiculous.” I say, and double over, wheezing with laughter.  
He looks down at the sleeves and huffs out a laugh. That just sets me off again. And for a moment, it is just like old times.  
Then our eyes meet. And the moment is shattered, because I see the pain flash across his eyes. It melts my laughter. I want to apologize, again. But before I can, John sits down on the couch and picks up the remote.  
“Some crap telly?” He offers. He isn’t looking at me anymore.  
“Of course.” I say. Before the fall, I would never have agreed to crap telly without putting up a fight. But now, we both need a distraction. I sigh and go over to sit on the couch.  
I sit close to John. Close enough for him to touch, if he wants. Far enough for it not to be overwhelming to him.  
At some point in the next hour, I fall asleep. There is nothing I can do about the exhaustion I feel. When I come to, I’m in my bedroom (how did I get in here?) with the sun rays indicating that it is almost 8 o’clock in the morning. And John is nowhere to be seen. For a moment, I panic.  
What if Adaa has John? My thoughts spiral in a mess. I force my breathing to calm down and head out of my bedroom.  
And there he is, wrapped up in a blanket, crashed on the sofa.  
I smile. It escapes my comprehension how someone can look so innocent and yet be so fierce. The morning light glints off of his golden hair, threatening to stop the breath in my chest. I walk over quietly and draw the curtains.  
The slight sounds don’t wake him, so I decide to make tea.  
“SHERLOCK!” John screams. I almost drop the cup I’m holding. His screams don’t stop. “NO! No, please, no.”  
I place the cup on the table and rush over to John. I touch his arm gently.  
“John,” I whisper. “John, you’re having a nightmare.”  
His screams still don’t stop. They turn into soft moans. “Don’t…..please….please. Don’t kill him.”  
I kneel next to the sofa. “John. I’m here. I’m fine. It's okay." I stroke his hair softly and sit beside him. “I’m right here, John. I’m alive.”  
At this, his eyes snap to mine and he whimpers. A lone tear slips down his cheek. His hand comes up to cover mine.  
“Hey.” I say. “I made some tea. Wanna find out if I’m good at it?”  
He gives me a watery smile. “You’re terrible at making tea. You put too much sugar in mine.”  
“Well, that was for an experiment. And besides, I am not terrible at anything. Come on.” I pull him to his feet. “We’ve work to do today.”  
John groans but stands up anyway.  
“Right. We need to find that bitch.”  
I huff. “Do you have to use such crass language, John.”  
“I could use much more creative language. But I am going to murder her, so how I refer to her doesn’t really matter.”  
John says that like he is talking about buying groceries.  
But then again, he has killed for me before. The fact that he wants to kill Adaa shouldn’t be a surprise. What is a surprise, is that he hasn’t really changed from the John he was when we first met. And yet, he has changed in too many ways to count.  
Contradictions.  
Those were what had piqued my interest in John. He has always been so full of contradictions. I smile to myself as my attention shifts back to the case.  
Adaa was last spotted near her hideout in Serbia by me. Granted, I was disoriented and bleeding and had too much water in my lungs, but if I can remember the details of her appearance, I will be able to deduce where she might have gone.  
I lay down on the couch and sigh.  
It’s going to be a long visit to my mind palace.


	4. CHAPTER 4

Sherlock POV:   
I open the basement door in my mind palace. The basement is where I store my worst memories. Sitting in the corner is Jim Moriarty. He growls in my direction but let's me pass. He knows that no harm he can inflict is ever gonna be as dangerous as me reviewing my memories of Serbia.   
I could possibly slip into a coma and/or suffer violent panic attacks which will further aggravate my physical wounds.  
I start a day before my capture and work my way through the memories.   
The first whip is fire across my back, and my breathing shoots up. This isn’t going to end well. But I need to do it. I need to find Ada. She's a threat. She knows exactly what will break me.  
I ignore the fantom pains and aches and observe really observe her as she cuts a shapeless pattern into my back. My head spins. I can't concentrate.   
I take a few calming breaths, and start over.   
Her trousers. Camo print. Cat hair. What does that tell me? She owns a cat. Probably two. I have already deduced that she's a cat lover.  
Please. Please, no more.  
My brain is screaming, my body isn't much better off.  
That's when I hear the gunshot. A gunshot from the direction of the living room, I have time to think, before my mind, suddenly, blessedly, goes blank.

_______________

John POV:  
I try my hardest not to stare, I really do. Then I think. Shuck it, this idiot has just returned from the dead. I am entitled to a little bit of staring while I drink my morning cuppa.   
What I don't think, is about Mary. My phone buzzes in my pocket. 27 missed calls and 32 messages. I know with startling certainty that I have been an arse to her. She deserved to know where the fuck I was last night.  
My stomach churns with guilt as I glance over at Sherlock and ring Mary. I feel like I'm somehow betraying him. Even though he and I weren't involved like that.   
"Um, hi, Mary."  
"Oh thank god. Thank god! I thought something had happened to you. Are you alright?" Mary asks.  
"Yes. Yes, of course. I'm fine, love. I, uh, called to tell you that this isn't working for me. We need to break up."  
There is deafening silence on the other end.  
"I. I don't understand."  
"It's not you, Mary, it's me. I can't handle this. I think we're going too fast. I mean, we met last week. And we're already in a relationship. I just. I need some space. And please, please don't think this is because of you. It's not. You have been nothing but nice to me since we met. But I-"  
She cuts me off, "Is there someone else?" Her voice is cold. " I deserve to know at least that much, don't you think?"  
I glance at Sherlock. "Yes. Yes, there is someone else."  
The line goes dead.  
Dread settles inside me.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> LET THE TORTURE BEGIN 😁

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and a few consequent chapters have explicit content. 
> 
> PLEASE DO NOT READ IF THAT SORT OF THING TRIGGERS YOU.  
> Stay safe, my lovelies.❤

John Watson:

I sigh and head to Sherlock's bedroom to borrow his laptop. I'm going to have to update my blog.  
I'm on my way back to the kitchen, when I hear it. The smallest rustle on the carpet.  
It can't have been Sherlock. He was in his mind palace. My back straightens automatically and I move towards the hall, trying not to make a sound. I mentally face-palm when I remember that I don't have the Sig with me.  
No worries. One of Sherlock's chemicals from the kitchen table will do nicely. I glance at all the liquids one by one, and there it is. I'm not much of a genius, but I know choloroform when I see it.  
As long as I have the element of surprise on my side, I'll be good.  
I move soundlessly towards the kitchen door and am about to- "Cut the crap, shortie, just come out already." A decidedly female voice calls from the direction of the sofa.  
My heart starts thudding in my chest, but I don't move an inch.  
"Come out quickly or I'll do you a favour and shoot this waste of space, here."  
No.  
I step out from behind the door and the sight that meets my eyes is more terrifying than the Hound.  
Sherlock is sitting on the sofa, back ramrod straight, his face completely white, and tears streaming down his face.  
He looks me in the eye, but his eyes don't have their normal gleam in them. He is still in his mind palace, then. But at least some part of him recognizes the danger we're in. He shakes his head, barely a shake, but there all the same.  
He's definitely still in his mind palace if he thinks I could leave him now.  
I glance over at his assailant. She is wearing a mask covering her eyes and a bright pink hoodie. Nothing conspicuous, but enough to hide her face.  
"Ooo, you're a snack." She says, eyeing me up and down. "Hello. Nice to meet ya. I'm Adaa. Just in case you were stupid enough not to figure it out from the state he is in." She says, pointing her chin at Sherlock.  
"I am going to blow your fucking brains out." I tell her.  
She smirks. "Now we both know you suck at death threats. You have to admit, that was really not very impressive."  
"No. It wasn't. Then again, I wasn't trying to impress you."  
She tilts her head. "I like you."  
"Too bad I don't."  
She laughs, but when she speaks next, her voice is venom, "Put it down."  
I raise an eyebrow at her.  
"Put what down?" I ask, innocently.  
I can almost hear her eye roll.  
"The choloroform, you idiot. I know you have it."  
I don't put it down. "Come on, babey, do you expect me to threaten you every step of the way? It gets rather monotonous after a while." she pouts.  
I bend down to put it on the ground when I hear the gunshot. Pain creeps up my leg and rips a startled scream from my throat. My calf is bleeding. I sit down on a chair and try to cover the wound, to stop the pain, but I begin to see stars.  
I peer at Ada through my eyelids, trying to make out why she shot me, but all I see is her backhanding Sherlock. He falls face-first onto the carpet, unconscious. I try to reach him but my vision starts to go fuzzy. I slump forward and black out.  
__________________

When I open my eyes next, I'm in a completely unfamiliar place. The pain has reduced considerably, though. Which means I have been out for quite some time. I glance down at my leg. The bullet wound has been cleaned and someone has been giving me pain killers. There is light streaming through a window. My hands are cuffed to two poles on either side of my body but my legs are left free. Moving either of my legs will be stupid, though. Sherlock is slumped in the corner, his hands cuffed in front of his chest. His incoherent moaning and the pallor of his skin suggest he might have a fever.  
"Sherlock?"  
"J'hn."  
"Sherlock, are you alright?" I raise my voice a bit.  
He winces and opens his eyes. "I- John?! Wha-?"  
"You're panicking. Look at me. Breathe. Breathe, Sherlock." It's ironic how I ask Sherlock to breathe and yet struggle to catch my own breath through the pain. Although, nothing can compare to the trauma Sherlock must be experiencing right now. He's already been tortured for so long by the same woman, and now, he's about to be tortured even more.  
I continue, "....this…... isn't the best situation, but we'll get through it. We're gonna get through this, okay. All you gotta do is breathe deeply for me. Yes. That's it, that's it. You're doing great. Keep breathing."  
"I-"  
"Don't try to speak, we can talk later. We've got all the time in the world. Calm down, breathe."  
He calms down considerably after that. It does nothing to reduce my worry, though. If we're here, Ada has definitely got a plan. And I doubt that involves time for either of us to chit chat.  
__________________________ 

Footsteps outside the room rouse me from my uncomfortable slumber. The door swings open and Ada saunters in. She's wearing sneakers today, along with a crop top and jean shorts. A backpack is slung casually over her shoulders.  
"Good morning, bois!" She says, unnecessarily loud. Sherlock flinches in the corner.  
"Aww, is the little pet scared?" She walks over to him, and he curls away from her.  
"Leave him alone." I growl without thinking.  
She raises an eyebrow at me, as if she hadn't expected me to say that. "Why?" She asks.  
I don't reply.  
"Is it because he's your little pet? Is that why you don't want me to spoil him?"  
I say nothing and stare at the wall opposite me. If there's anything that's going to make her mad, it's ignoring her.  
I am right. She walks into my line of sight. Her face is a mask of calm. The calm before a storm.  
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice that she puts down her backpack and rummages through it. She pulls out a scalpel and rounds on me. I force a smile. "Seriously? That's all you got?"  
She nods. "I'm gonna go easy on you."  
She kneels before me and lets her hand travel up my leg. I try not to shiver. She prods the bullet wound and holds up the knife. I squeeze my eyes shut and prepare for the flood of pain.  
But none comes.  
A yelp to my right and my eyes fly open. It's Sherlock. Ada throws a smirk in my direction.  
"Did you really think it would be that simple? Every mistake you make in here, he will pay for it."  
Sherlock whimpers as she drags the scalpel lightly across his pants leg, the fabric tearing apart easily.  
She bares his calf and plunges the knife in.  
Sherlock screams and screams and I squeeze my eyes shut. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All screams in the comments, please.  
> If nothing else, keyboard slams are welcome and will be highly appreciated.


End file.
